Return From Shamballa
by Vengefulnoob
Summary: The Fanfiction is an epilogue of Conqueror of Shamballa, set amongst the flames of Berlin in 1945. The Red Army, remains of the Wermacht and now Amestrians find themselves in the middle of one of the bloodiest and most climactic battles in history.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **

**This will probably need some explanation: I enjoyed Conqueror of Shamballa, but the end left me feeling that the story was incomplete. So I present you with my humble offering for an epilogue to the first anime and CoS, and my attempt to join the FMA timeline with ours.**

**This story is rated T for Constant Violence and Language. There is NO use of lemons in this story, but there is romance.**

**The year is 1945. The Third Reich is on the brink of collapse, with the advancing Soviet forces from the East, and Allies rapidly moving from the Belgian border after the Ardennes offensive in the winter. The Soviet Ukrainian Front, numbering some two million soldiers, is poised to encircle Berlin, having crushed the final defensive lines between their forces and the city at the Seelowe Heights. Thousands will die taking the city, just as millions have fallen throughout the war, and both inhuman cruelty and acts of heroism will be shown by the two sides in this climactic struggle for the fate of the world.**

**The Thule Society, after it's humiliating defeat during the course of the Conqueror of Shamballa, is looking for one last super-weapon to stave off final defeat, while the Soviet war machine prepares for a protracted battle for the city, against the remains of the Wermacht, along with as many able-bodied elderly soldiers and Hitler Youth who can bear arms. Running low on man-power and grimly demanding revenge for Nazi aggression four years before, the Russians are fiercely determined to take the city, and with a thousand artillery pieces per kilometre of front-line concentrated for this assault, hell is about to be unleashed on one of the historic, cultural and strategic capitals of Europe.**

**The fight will be long, the losses high, and the consequences will be of the utmost importance.**

* * *

The bunker shook once again, grains of concrete tumbling from the ceiling. Hitler continued staring at the maps, willing his men to fight harder. The city was not lost, how could the General staff even think so? Berlin would stand, and the units he had prepared for the counterattack would break through the oncoming Communist hordes. The long shadow thrown by a paraffin lamp quickly blotted out the map, and with it his thinking. He looked up, fumbling for his spectacles, to see Leutnant Groebe. The thirty year old clicked his heels together, raising his arm before his idol.

"Mein Fuhrer, I have the solution you requested."

Hitler reached over for the file Groebe had brought, his frail hand reaching for the paper like a skeleton grasping for life.

"Tell me, Groebe... why should the Thule Society, which failed then, prove any use to me now?"

"Because, mein Fuhrer, we have devised a weapon to rid these Russian pests from our city. We know of the world, Shamballa, that lies beyond the ether. We failed to conquer it back then, but surely, with persuasion, the great warriors who dwell there may join our cause. They will see the Soviet cancer paralysing our Reich, and will hasten to our defence!"

The Fuhrer sat back in his seat, his mind filled with the notions that Groebe has conjured for him. "How do we know that these beasts will fight for us?"

Groebe drew a photograph from the file. "This man. His name is Edward Elric. Our informer told us that he said he was an inhabitant of Shamballa."

There was a gleam in the dictator's dead eyes, Groebe thought. Something about this man, little more than a boy in truth, had appealed to the leader's mind. "Groebe, of course they will fight for us" He said, clutching the photograph.

"This boy is an Aryan."

He looked at the map, his eyes flaring with triumph.

"Tell the Thule Society they have my blessing. These Warriors of Shamballa shall descend from the heavens, like the Valkyries! Go! Tell them!"

Groebe ran off as instructed, his heart filled with pride: the Fuhrer had seen the way after all. This day, he would bring honour to the Reich.

* * *

Pyotr wiped his face again. The grime of this blasted city had engrained itself into his very skin. He wondered if ever he could smell clean again.

The Polkovnik had been driving the whole of his Guard's Rifle Division like whipped dogs to reach the Reichstag. No doubt, he was under even greater pressure from above, from Marshall Zhukov. Pyotr's train of thought was suddenly cut off by a spray of machine gun rounds impacting the brickwork to his left, the inexperienced gunner hitting what had most likely been a kiln once.

"Stay low, Comrades, let the tankists take care of the fascist bastards!" He yelled, making sure the company kept low and away from the hail of fire. Indeed, as he did so, the wire-mesh factory gates to his right were smashed open as a gigantic IS-2 crushed them, grinding them underneath its treads.

The tank took careful aim at the bunker, and fired at point blank range, the shell sending lumps of concrete sailing into the air, and ensuring that the Strelkovy could continue on their way. But just as his Gvardie began celebrating, the tank was rent open by a panzerfaust from one of the far-lying out-buildings.

He cursed under his breath. This factory had suddenly become a much harder nut to crack.

What had remained of the appartment block had just taken a direct hit from the Soviet artillery. Edward grimaced, knowing full well that there were still families inside. He scrabbled over the rubble, trying to reach anyone trapped inside, almost clapping before removing the rubble with his hands.

After a few minutes, it was a fair assumption that the family had gotten lucky and were either in a cellar or were heading west. If the stories emerging from East Prussia were to be believed, the Soviet liberation was followed by a fairly brutal second wave, which was not policed. Suddenly an engine roared into life ahead of him, and he ducked into one of the road's gaping pot-holes. Luckily the tank was heading into the old Earthenware factory, firing shortly after, the shockwave reminding him of that produced when Scar had made his escape all those years ago.

He lay in the crater, reflecting on the chaos that surrounded him. How? How could this great country, which had once been a centre of culture, of science, have turned to such a disgusting monster? A monster that even now, was being crushed relentlessly under the weight of the red steamroller. Why hadn't he gone to America, along with Alphonse, Einstein and the others? Maybe it was because he needed to stay in this country.

If only Hohenheim hadn't thrown away his life like he did, they could have formulated a plan. But what with the changing political currents, the defeat of the Thule Society had been small fry. Things had changed far too quickly, and far too strongly for Ed or his brother to do anything to stop the rise of that bastard dictator. And so, yes... maybe he had missed an opportunity by staying here. But at least he could try to help the other Berlin residents as best he could.

A violent explosion caused him to look up, and he saw the Russian tank smouldering away, it's turret rent open and the crew compartment belching flames. He had seen war before, but this... this was unlike anything he had ever seen. The chattering of automatic weapons quickly came to a halt, as the Soviets finished off the rest of the volunteers holding the factories, and swept on. He had been in the crater far too long, he reasoned, and arching low, started to sprint back towards the appartment, until he heard the PPSh's deafening roar behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Please note that additions of language is poor and done in literal English. Translations are provided in brackets. For the purposes of this story, it is assumed that the language used in Amestris is analogous to German.**

* * *

The soldier yelled, firing his weapon into the air.

"Stoi! STOI!" (Stop! STOP!)

Edward turned to see an officer with his sub-machine gun levelled at him.

"Nich shiesen, freund!" (Don't shoot, friend!) He yelled back, holding his arms up, hoping that the Russian understood at least some of his German.

"Freund? I don't even know you." Pyotr kept his weapon steady, staring at this blonde civilian. He was clearly of drafting age, but he was unarmed, and had no uniform... so was he a deserter? He mustered what pidgin German he could manage.

"What's your name?"

"Edward. Yours?"

"Captain Pyotr, 13th Guards Rifle Division. What are you doing away from shelter? Are you a soldier?"

"No, I'm a civilian... I was trying to help the family across the road whose house got hit by your artillery."

The soldier lowered his weapon. Something about him... he looked suspiciously like Fuery. Edward grinned silently: Fate had an odd way of throwing him reminders.

Pyotr slung his weapon over his shoulder: There was something about this man... the movement in his right arm... and why the hell was he grinning?! He might be something of interest to the Polkovnik he reasoned.

"Come with me: I need to take you to my commanding officer."

High above them, Natalya lowered her rifle: The blonde civilian was not a threat. She raised the rifle again, scanning the skyline for targets, the sniper scope steady in her view.

* * *

Hawkeye's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. Did he HAVE to snore? She could accept that being a Brigadeer General now, Mustang had more work than before, but this... this was just too much.

A stifled wheeze erupted from Roy's nose and she knitted her eyebrows all the more, trying to force herself not to pull out her revolver. She glanced back into the other office, keeping an eye on the subordinates. Winry was proving her worth since she had got her commission, and she certainly cowed the office when Riza had been looking after Roy. Since falling from that damn... contraption that had come through while closing the gate, she'd had to keep long hour vigils over him. Only now, six months later, was he finally able to return to work. And he was sleeping.

"Riza..."

She broke out of her trance, and snapped to attention.

"Sir?"

She held the salute for a few seconds, before realising that, of course, he had said her name in his sleep. She walked over to him, sighing and propping up his head with the pillow she had hidden behind her desk for just such an occasion, closing the door behind her to make sure that the others did not notice that he was napping while they were being driven under not one, but two task-mistresses.

"Please... don't go..."

She looked at him surprised, then wanting to slap him awake. What right did he have to even ask that?! HE was the one who had left! And he... Her eyes opened wide, noticing that he was holding her hand, that smirk she both loved and hated spread across his lips.

"Got you."

"Indeed you do. Now let go of my hand before I send you back to sleep."

"No."

She had been expecting a playful response, or him to pretend to be hurt, but... he had said no?

"Why not?"

"I need to talk to you."

She brushed her hair away and began picking up papers, trying desperately to distract herself from this man who had left her without so much as a goodbye.

"There's nothing to talk about. You left an..."

He laid his hand on head, brow wrinkling into a frown.

"I should never have done so. I thought I could escape it, Riza... but no matter where I ran, memories..."

Was he... crying? There was a glimmer from his cheek, and the clouds of anger rolled away just a little.

"There's only one thing that stops them."

She knew what was coming, but she still couldn't accept that it could be. She looked away, trying to hide her scarlet cheeks.

"Riza... please..."

Suddenly a gaping crack ripped its way into existence across the wall, Mustang running to the window with his loyal bodyguard, wiping his face as he did so.

"A transmutation?!"

The bright light stretched around the whole command centre. Too late, he started yelling for everyone to get out. With a sound like the ripping of the universe itself, the building began to disappear from the face of Amestris. As the boundaries between worlds broke, he only just had time to take one last look at her.

"Riza..."

Then the very essence of their lives, the universe, truth and everything faded into nothingness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

**Having been told that why Winry joined the Army was very poorly explained, a little thought process:**

**After Conqueror of Shamballa, seeing as Ed has disappeared from Amestris for good, Winry decides that the time has come to put the past behind her and move on, and to do so, she joins the military, in a similar vein to how some people argue Riza joined the military after her father died and Roy left for war. After a stream-lined basic training on Mustang's recommendation, followed by excellent performance as a field engineer, such as keeping Amestris' tanks in working order and even suggesting an addition or two, Winry quickly rose to the rank of Lieutenant, finding herself seconded to Mustang for her technical expertise and her growing closeness with those who served with Ed. In essence, Falman, Fuery, Breda, Havoc and, to a lesser extent, Mustang and Hawkeye, have become something of a second family to her, and growing out of her teenage years and in need of a job that doesn't remind her of former loss, she's been happy to work at Central since.**

* * *

The chanters lowered their arms, exhausted by the effort. Groebel smiled: They had only lost three of them in the attempt.

"Get the others food and water. We start again in two hours."

He grabbed his Waffen bodyguard and ran up the stairs from the bunker's main hall, unholstering his pistol as he did so, not even daring to hope that they might have succeeded. His eyes barely needed to readjust to the outside conditions, so dark were the clouds thrown up by the burning city.  
There it was, standing like a monument to his belief and dedication to the fuhrer: A gleaming white building, transposed upon Koenigsplatz, Green and blue banners trailing in the breeze.

He had done it. Groebel fell to his knees, cackling with laughter.

He had saved Berlin.

The Shamballans had arrived.

* * *

Edward looked up suddenly. Somewhere, in amongst the cacophony of Berlin's destruction, there had been a sound... something that had reminded him... it couldn't be...

Pyotr looked up from the ground and noticed that Edward had stopped walking. "Something the matter? Why'd you stop?"

"I just heard... something..."

Pyotr raised an eyebrow. This guy definitely was the one from the reports.

"It sounded like something from the Reichstag..."

Pyotr shook his head. "Even if I let you go there, it's still hostile territory, and it's not our concern, there are other units making their push there. I must insist that you come with me."

Edward looked down. Maybe it had just been a trick, another cruel twist of fate. "Nevermind... lead away."

They walked through the shattered remains of a restaurant, emerging on the other side to find a T-34 muscling its way through a small walled garden. Edward looked up at the infantry riding on its back, and almost laughed. The officer was Mustang.

The Polkovnik jumped down, straightened his great-coat and walked up to the two of them, papers from a newspaper stand nearby fluttering their way past him into whatever escape they could find.

"What the hell is this civilian doing here, Pyotr?"

"I thought he would be of interest to you, sir, there was an intelligence briefing about him."

"Oh yes, I remember..." The Polkovnik considered, as a hooded figure, Ed assumed a sniper, stepped out beside him, her voice another one he hadn't heard since he had passed through.

"It came right from the top, sir." This last statement caused Ed's eyes opened wide. From the top? It couldn't be... how could they have known?!

"From Stalin himself."

There was a disturbing silence around the Reichstag. The building had simply forced it's way into existence, in between the advancing Soviet troops and the remaining Wermacht defenders. Hughes reloaded another Bandoleer into his Kar98 as he crawled over the small redoubt on Koenigsplatz, straining to get a better view. As a partisan, he hadn't quite been quite sure what to do even before this... this thing had appeared, since he remained dubious as to what the Red Army would do to Fritz Lang, Noah and the other "Undesireable" figures he and Ed had managed to hide from the Nazis. But now... this... He shook his head. Gracia was sure as hell not going to believe him.

He snapped out of his reverie, remembering how close he was to the Soviet positions- he was in no hurry to reveal himself after all- and tried to head back to the sewer entrance he had emerged from. But then he heard angry commands from his right, and turned to see the Russians reacting to the building. Fear of the unknown, as Ed had told him so many years ago, was natural. He cursed under his breath as the Soviets pulled up anti-tank guns to blow the building to pieces. He was sure that whatever kind of... science? Or magic -or whatever the hell it was that made the world turn in these days where it struggled to tear itself to pieces- that had placed this building here, there were people inside. Checking that the Russians were busy loading their artillery pieces, he sprinted across the first line of trenches, heading for what he hoped was the building's entrance.

This was not going to be easy.

* * *

Havoc felt his way up the wall. What the fuck had just happened?! He saw blonde hair splayed out beside him, and turned to see Lieutenant Rockbell where she had been thrown onto the ground.

"Winry?!"

Her eyes fluttered open "What the..."

"I don't know." He looked around to see Fuery, Breda and Falman picking themselves up, though Breda's right arm was hanging loosely while he tore a sling for himself from the sleeve.

Winry took stock of the situation and rose to her feet. "Everyone able to move?" With the affirmitive nods, she quickly carried on giving the order she had almost had time to give before.

"Get to the exits, try to gather as many as you can. This building's gonna crumble any moment." As they parted, she saw the entrance to the Brigadeer General's office blocked by rubble.

"Brigadeer? Captain?!" She shouted into the fallen concrete, trying to find a way around the blockage, but seeing none.

"Winry!" She heard a muffled voice from the other side. "We're ok, we'll find another way out. Go!"

She nodded and ran for the door, before falling flat as the first shell struck home.


	4. Chapter 4

Al took off the radiation goggles after what must have been hours, the seal breaking and his skin rejoicing in its release. The New Mexico desert whipped up a crosswind, Sand particles lashing at his cheeks as he looked at the tower being constructed for Trinity, and beyond into the surrounding mountains, to where Oppenheimer would surely be grim, looking at the rigidity of the bunker in preparation for the test.

Al pitied him. He seemed to carry the weight of the whole Manhattan project on his shoulders. He himself had seen what terrible power would be unleashed here when he had been consumed by the truth so many years before, but having seen the terror of Kristallnacht... he couldn't let this weapon be used to propogate such evil. Ed had agreed on the quayside in Danzig, when Al had left his adoptive homeland and brother: Germany must not develop the weapon.

The sand swirled up once more, and the sun was hidden. Alphonse wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down at the rigging that was still left to prepare. He hoped Ed was still alive in the hellish fury of Berlin.

* * *

Hughes threw himself flat as the Russians continued pounding the building at short range with artillery. It was a sturdy building, that was for sure.

Crawling forward until he reached some sort of side-entrance, he pushed the door open with the muzzle of the rifle, peering inside as he did so, and finding himself face to face with a few confused soldiers. Their uniforms... they weren't Russian or German... who the hell were they?! Both the new-comers and he stared at one another for a few seconds, before a shell broke their stares. Hoping they understood his beckoning gesture, he tried to lead them out, back to the trenches.

* * *

Breda stared back at Falman. It WAS Hughes! But how did he...? Concrete tumbled from the ceiling as more shells collided with the front of the building. Hughes or not, he knew a way out, and Breda didn't need to hear Winry's urgent shouts as she sprinted after them, dragging along a half-dazed and glass-less Schiezka, to know what to do. He grimaced as pain tore along his arm again, grabbing a rifle from the rack to the right and trying to keep up with a memory.

* * *

His eye was burning again.

The sensation gnawed at his nerves, his brain screaming at him as he clamped his hand over the patch, before a light slap made him desist.

"Stop touching it, sir, it'll only get worse."

Mustang shook himself awake, trying to surface through the layers of unconsciousness, before finding himself in his office, the amber-eyed Captain hunching to his left.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"How am I supposed to know?!" She snapped. "There's artillery pounding away at the building, and the entrance is blocked with rubble!"

He shook his head, trying to wake from the nightmare, before picking up on that slightest note of panic he had heard in her retort. If she was scared...

He looked around the office, the desk, chairs and cabinets thrown over one another like discarded toys.

"We have to get out of here."

"The entrance is blocked sir, and I'm not too willing to let that artillery open up a..." A shell sailed into the room below, the world shaking itself violently from existence before slowly fading back into view. As the ringing in his ears died down, he peered down into the office below through the new sizeable hole in the floor, before beckoning to her, noticing that blood was slowly dripping from a cut on her forhead.

They wordlessly dropped down into the office, their fall broken by a collapsed desk, as they made their way through the building, trying to put as many rooms as possible between them and the relentless fire.

They quickly found their way to a gaping crack in the side of the building, just one floor off a cratered series of trenches, jumping down once more into a recently abandoned fox-hole, it's previous residents in grey uniforms lying motionless around a machine-gun of some sorts. Mustang gave out a heavy breath as a final salvo of howitzer shells smashed through the remainders of the central command complex, breaking the building apart with a thunderous crumbling sound and sending shards of concrete in every direction. Roy threw both of them flat on the ground as the building groaned it's last and was still.

There was another note of disquiet in her voice as she pushed him off her lightly.

"Sir... this isn't Amestris..."

He looked up and saw the wave of infantry already surging forward.

"No, Captain, it definitely isn't."

* * *

"Tovarish Kommandir! Tovarish Kommandir!" (Comrade Commander! Comrade Commander!) Ed looked up as another haggard Guards soldier sprinted to the Polkovnik, or rather Mustang, bringing more urgent news. It seemed that in the furnace of Berlin, events had spiralled even further out of anyone's control. The Polkovnik grimaced and stared at Ed, carefully weighing up his words.

"Looks like the world decided to screw itself up the moment you showed yourself."

Ed stared back pointedly. "It has a tendency to do that."

"At any rate... Orders are orders, and no matter how much I hate to follow pointless ones, you need to come with me."

Ed's heart dropped, realising that his fate had been thrown out of his hands.

"Marshall Zhukov wants to speak with you."


	5. Chapter 5

Groebel scrambled along, Luger in hand as he made his way over the treacherous no-man's land between the Soviet troops and the Reichstag. The Waffen Guard he had taken with him had just had his head shattered by a stray round, and he was eager to avoid the same fate, hugging the cover as he made his way to the ruins. Possibly, in there, there could be some remaining Shamballans...

He clambered over a small crater, gradually drawing closer to the trench system where the building had appeared, and caught a flash of blue moving in a foxhole. He dashed to another piece of rubble, staring down and for a split-second noticing his quarry: a man and a woman, both officers, in brilliant blue uniforms. The female officer noticed him and rapidly raised her pistol, while his mind sprinted along, quickly picking up on her perfect Aryan features, the blonde hair and amber eyes, a spirit of elation rising as he began to offer a hand to this woman taking careful aim at him, before recoiling.

She was bleeding.

And, looking into her eyes, he thought he noticed lingering fear too.

How could these... Shamballans be anything more than human?  
He felt despair hit him. The Shamballans were ultimately just as human as anyone else, and for that reason, they could never save the Reich. The despair quickly faded along with the world, as a flash of pain sparked through his mind, before it too vanished, leaving nothing but the sniper's round lodged in his skull.

The Russian casually etched another marking onto the brick in front of him, before raising the rifle once more. Zaitsev would be proud of his student.

* * *

Riza quickly threw herself back down as the man's head exploded, cursing inwardly that she hadn't realised the threat towards her charge sooner. She looked around, searching for some place where she could hide him from whoever it was that was fighting. The large building behind them, which, she assumed, had once been a government building, looked more like a fortress, with a few banners bearing crosses of some kind being torn by shrapnel, while harrying fire was tearing from every window, into the forces across the square.

Mustang peeked over the brow of the crater at the advancing troops. They wore great-coats, and carried banners of red with golden symbols. Behind them, monstrous tanks churned the ground, guns bellowing at the building, while white trails soared over buildings with a terrifying wailing, lighting up the city around them with explosions. He ducked down again, looking back at her as she did the same.

"We have to get out of their way."

Riza nodded, looking back over her way as the chattering roar of rifles and machine-guns increased, noticing that standing off to the side of the building, there was a small forest of some decription. She pointed to it, and he nodded, trusting her instincts.

Just as he had when she had needed to protect him from Archer.

She pushed the memories of guilt from her mind quickly, sternly reminding herself that the middle of a battlefield was not the right place for personal reflection, as they set off over the rubble, making sure to stay low and out of the arcing fields of fire lying across the plaza.

* * *

Fuery was exhausted- they all were. Hughes had led them right out of the square, and into the sewer system, but still they could hear the constant rumbling and chattering of the city's demise, echoing as it did through the vast networks into which they had lowered themselves. Hughes had quickly run on ahead, so he rested the butt of his rifle on the sewer wall, and leaned against it, ignoring the slime encrusted on the bricks where he had put his shoulder. Falman looked back at him, sympathetically holding out an arm.

"Come on, this city can't be much bigger..."

"Yeah... it's nothing compared to Armstrong's as- I mean abs..." Breda grumbled as he ran past them, trying to keep their spacing constant.

"I heard that, Breda!" Rockbell yelled back at him.

"Very sorry, sir, I didn't mean it."

"Next time I hear it, I'll get Mustang to dock your pay."

"Yes, sir."

The humour was somewhat appreciated amongst them, but without knowing where the hell they were, there was no way any of them could even think about pay or anything else so mundane compared to their survival. If this wasn't Amestris, was it Aerugo? Or Creta? Or any of the other fabled countries which lay to the East? Were they even on the same world?

Fuery heard Winry sighing, knowing that she was probably spending her few moments of respite thinking about Fullmetal. Since Ed had left, she had always had periods of deadly quiet, before joining in with great energy, but those silences... everyone under Mustang's command knew it best to let her sadly ponder what might have been.

Hughes eventually returned, and Fuery felt his strength recover. Alive or dead, Hughes was quite the motivator. None of them had even introduced themselves yet, and it seemed fairly clear that he recognised none of them, but there was little doubt that he was the same warm-hearted man that they all remembered.

Hughes slowly led them in silence through the sewer passage, as tramping and tank treads ground on above, until they reached a ladder leading up. He knocked three times on the pipe-lid, and it was opened, a relieved Gracia peering out.

"Thank God you'r..."

She was cut off by a loud rumble and the sound of a torrent.

"Fuck! They're flooding the sewers! Everyone up! Into the cellar!" Hughes hauled himself through in double time, grabbing the others as they made their way up. First Winry, then Falman, then Havoc, Scieska and Breda. The water now was flowing strongly, the current trying to drag Fuery from the ladder and sweeping weapons, helmets, bodies and belongings past him, as he tried to reach the last rung and that enticing hand held out by Hughes... Just a little further...

Then the debris of a metro carriage slammed into his side, and he fell under, losing his grip and feeling himself being swept away, his fading consciousness wondering how his parents would feel that he would die like this and not on the front-line.


End file.
